


The Lies Of Raleigh Becket

by tielan



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 50 Shades Of Grey, Alternate Universe - Corporate, Developing Relationship, F/M, Light Domme/sub, my brain does this sometimes, yes I went there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:43:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raleigh Becket tells himself a lot of things. Some of them are even true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lies Of Raleigh Becket

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quigonejinn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quigonejinn/gifts).



> "We're willing to let you keep the Danger Corporation, Mr Becket, but your record of the last five years isn't reassuring."  
> "So you're going to fire me? Sorry, ‘retire’ me?"  
> "You've been assigned a consultant to assist you with the everyday running of the corporation."  
> "You mean to spy on me?"  
> "I say exactly what I mean Mr Becket. You should know that by now."  
> "I know how to run my own company, Mr. Pentecost."  
> "You've been out of the business for the last five years, Mr. Becket. The market's changed. We're not the big players anymore, we're the small fish."  
> "And you have a plan to change that?"  
> "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."
> 
> This story is what happens when you have a vague plotbunny of an idea (above), and then someone's [tumblr post](http://quigonejinn.tumblr.com/post/72947779563/i-just-take-comfort-that-in-an-alternate-universe) sets you off chasing the freaking bloody rabbit down the hole and into...well, this fic.
> 
> I've never read _50 Shades Of Grey_ and had no intention of doing even after Charlie Hunnam got cast as Christian Grey. As a result, this matches that story only in the vaguest "billionaire  & female character develop a D/s relationship" sense. This could be good or it could be bad. Either way, you've been warned!
> 
> And no, Mako isn't the sub.

At first, Raleigh tells himself it's the heels - viciously spiked stilettos that click briskly across the wooden floor before being muffled by the silk rug as she comes towards him like a tiger on the prowl.

His pulse is pounding when she hands him the tablet, and it takes him a full two seconds to concentrate on the figures displayed there. His nostrils are full of the scent of clean linen and warm lilies, and his mind is not on business.

But business is what she's here for - business and nothing else.

So he wrenches his mind out of his pants and forces himself to focus on the production values that Mako Mori has just handed him.

* * *

Raleigh tells himself it's the perfectly-pressed blouse that tucks primly into the slim skirt - business feminine, outlining her figure as she turns at the window, her mouth pursing over the protests being relayed to them by one of the division heads.

He speaks up. It’s his company. They’re his division heads. He remembers what they can do – what they’ve done before. If they did it before, ergo, they can do it again.

"You did a deadline like this for Yancy back in '08, Cal, with a financial crisis in full swing and the election all over the books." His voice is easy; no threats - no need for them. "The market's changed, but this isn't about the market _._ You can do this – and I have faith that you'll do it even better than Ms. Mori and I believe you will.”

He doesn't do it for the slight softening of that full mouth, he does it because his people were that good back in the day and they can be that good now. _He_ can be that good now.

Although, he thinks as the meeting closes, next time he will _definitely_ push himself and his people for the chance to see her mouth soften, if only a fraction.

* * *

Raleigh tells himself it’s curiosity about the glint of scarlet that dangles briefly from the chain slipping between the fingers of her left hand as she contemplates the plans for the launch and scribes notes with her right.

“You are staring, Mr. Becket.”

He can’t deny it, and he doesn’t really want to. They’ve been at this all morning and he wants a break. “I’m wondering what’s your story? Rebuilding fallen companies driven into the ground? Managing recalcitrant division heads who are digging their heels into the status quo? Babysitting former CEOs? That can’t be all of it.”

She looks up, her expression polite and cool and blank. And, not for the first time, Raleigh wonders why he pushes like this, why he lays himself out to this woman, hoping for a reaction that goes beyond business, that might show a hint of who she really is and what she really wants from him. At least, he wonders why he hopes for a reaction _from her_ ; he knows his own motives perfectly well.

The moment stretches out. He can feel his nape growing warm at the steady, unflinching stare she gives him – exquisite, unnerving, and just a little bit of a turn-on.

Then she arches her eyebrows, and something in her relaxes. She stands and holds out a hand. “Come with me, Mr. Becket.”

* * *

Raleigh tells himself it’s not what he wants to think it is. And he’s right. It’s not.

He’d kind of forgotten this gym existed at all – executive level, private and mostly unused. The other executives preferred weights and machines – if they exercised at all. He and Yancy preferred a more physical interaction.

Ms. Mori has found loose cotton trousers and a dark blue top somewhere; she somehow looks as businesslike in them as she does in her suit. Raleigh has a pair of old, loose sweats and a white wifebeater, and feels anything but businesslike as they stand side by side on the mat and warm up.

He follows her movements, the flow of the discipline coming back to him – simple muscle memory. And when she tilts her head in silent question, he nods in understanding answer.

It goes back and forth. He gets her down, then she gets him down. She earns a point and he wins it back. She’s lighter and smaller than him, but her centre of gravity is also lower and she has a fighter’s moves. They’re matched in points, and while Raleigh suspects she’s going easy on him because it’s been so long, he’s enjoying the physicality of it too much to argue.

Then she twists and lands him on his back, hard enough that his breath catches.

Ms. Mori grins down at him, flush with triumph, and Raleigh suddenly _wants_ with an intensity that steals his admission of defeat from his mouth and leaves him only panting.

* * *

Raleigh tells himself he can get past it. That he doesn’t have to give in to the yearning ache that bottoms out his belly and squeezes his balls.

He doesn’t _have_ to, but he _wants_ to.

And Ms. Mori continues on in their work, apparently oblivious to the restlessness that’s scratching away at his self-control, picking at his nerves from the moment she walks in the office of a morning, until the elevator dings to take her away to...whatever she does in the evening.

Raleigh tortures himself by imagining a man who grins at her when she gets home, who gets to see her shed the businesswoman and just become the person she is when she’s relaxed, when she’s not taming CEOs to her whip hand. Then Raleigh shivers at the thought of Ms. Mori with a whip in hand, telling him how to perform to her exacting expectations...

He lets himself follow that thought all the way to the edge, then jerks himself off, hard and fast and relieving but not _satisfying_. Not the way he wants it.

Yes, he’s a sick fuck. He acknowledges it, owns it.

He’d just like to be a sick fuck with a mistress who owned him with nothing more a lift of her pointed little chin.

* * *

Raleigh tells himself he didn’t hear what he just thought he heard.

Ms. Mori tilts her head at him. “Mr. Becket?”

“I... Yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t...quite hear what you just said.”

“I said I want you to get down on the floor and give me thirty push-ups.”

“Thirty push-ups.” His voice is flat. It’s flat because his first instinct is to get down on the floor and start pumping and he needs a few moments to think. “Why?”

“Because you’re in a mood, Mr. Becket, and we don’t have time for the physical activity to get you out of it. So you will do thirty push-ups and perhaps this will focus you better.”

Raleigh thinks this over, shrugs and starts to get down on the floor. Then pauses when she coughs.

“What?”

“Your shirt,” she says, her expression cool and uncompromising – but for the flush that’s creeping into her cheeks – a pale stain growing darker as he stares. “Take it off.”

He doesn’t remember undoing the buttons. He’s not sure he’s breathing at all when he thrusts the shirt at her. He doesn’t know if she feels the spark that jumps between them when his fingers brush hers. He _does_ know she’s watching him when he gets down on his hands and knees on the parqueted floor and prepares to give her thirty.

Then he freezes as he feels something dimple his trousers along his buttcrack – Ms. Mori’s stiletto heel, hard and pointed, resting unerringly over his anus as she balances with one foot on the ground and the other on his butt.

He can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move.

“Thirty, Mr. Becket. _Now_.”

* * *

Raleigh tells himself this isn’t happening. That he’s not half-naked on his office floor, doing push-ups for Ms Mori while her foot rides his asshole in a manner that leaves no room for alternate interpretation.

Those thirty push-ups are heaven and hell all at once. He lowers himself down. He pushes himself up. He doesn’t quite impale himself on Ms. Mako Mori’s heel – but he wants to. And it’s close. Sweet and holy fuck, _he’s_ close. She’s counting his push-ups in a voice that doesn’t tremble or falter, just counts for him in a low, sweet voice that might as well be saying filthy, filthy things into his ear from the way he’s reacting to it.

He grunts his way through the last ten... Eight... Five... Two...

She steps away the instant he’s done, and Raleigh collapses to the floor, panting from more than just the exertion. And the floor is cool against his balls and his dick, a sweet relief, if not the release he wants.

He already knows he’s not going to get the release he wants, even before he climbs up from the floor and meets her gaze – her cheeks still pink as her gaze rakes over him, but her expression unyielding. In return for that honest appraisal, Raleigh doesn’t try to hide that he’s still half-aroused, he just holds out his hand for the shirt.

“Are you focused now, Mr. Becket?”

“Oh yes,” he assures her as he slides the shirt on. “I am _very_ focused, Ms. Mori.”

“Good. Perhaps now we can continue on with our work this morning?”

She starts to turn, but Raleigh steps into her space. It’s not nice of him, to use his weight and his height and his body to intimidate her back against the desk, but he’s not feeling very nice right now.

He doesn’t touch her, though, doesn’t try to lay hands on her. He won’t do that without her permission and she hasn’t given it.

Not yet.

“And are we going to have a conversation this evening, Ms. Mori? About...pushups? And stiletto heels?”

Her eyes narrow, lashes lowering over her eyes. “If you want it, Mr. Becket, we can.”

“I want it,” he tells her firmly, “And I think we’d better.”

* * *

Raleigh tells himself this is will be a...professional conversation. It’s about things he needs to operate at full capacity – things that Yancy used to organise for them both, individually, to relieve the stress of their work.

But when the last account managers are dismissed, and seen to the door, Raleigh turns to find Ms. Mori standing at the window fingering the little scarlet shoe charm on the chain around her throat. And feels the wrenching realisation that he could probably find the number Yancy kept for when things got edgy, but the women whose services would be offered could only bring him relief – they wouldn’t be able to satisfy him.

So Raleigh tells himself he has to play this out carefully.

Two hours later, flat on his back among the papers of his own desk, Raleigh digs his toes into the old mahogany to get better leverage for his hips as Mako Mori rides him, hard and deep, and takes her pleasure at her own leisure – and his when she’s done.

* * *

Raleigh Becket tells himself a lot of things.

Some of them are even true.


End file.
